There's a Parade in Town

The First United Presbyterian Church

“There’s a Parade in Town”

Rev. Amy Morgan

April 14, 2019

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Psalm 118:1-2; 19-29

O give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his steadfast love endures forever!

 2 Let Israel say, "His steadfast love endures forever." Open to me the gates of righteousness, that I may enter through them and give thanks to the LORD.

 20 This is the gate of the LORD; the righteous shall enter through it.

 21 I thank you that you have answered me and have become my salvation.

 22 The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone.

 23 This is the LORD's doing; it is marvelous in our eyes.

 24 This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.

 25 Save us, we beseech you, O LORD! O LORD, we beseech you, give us success!

 26 Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the LORD. We bless you from the house of the LORD.

 27 The LORD is God, and he has given us light. Bind the festal procession with branches, up to the horns of the altar.

 28 You are my God, and I will give thanks to you; you are my God, I will extol you.

 29 O give thanks to the LORD, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever.

Luke 19:28-40

28 After he had said this, he went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem.

 29 When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples,

 30 saying, "Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here.

 31 If anyone asks you, 'Why are you untying it?' just say this, 'The Lord needs it.'"

 32 So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them.

 33 As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, "Why are you untying the colt?"

 34 They said, "The Lord needs it."

 35 Then they brought it to Jesus; and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it.

 36 As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road.

 37 As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen,

 38 saying, "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!"

 39 Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, "Teacher, order your disciples to stop."

 40 He answered, "I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out."

There’s a parade in town.

Throngs of people line the streets, waving palm branches, symbols of victory, in the air. Cloaks are strewn on the ground laying the path for the parade route.

There are no floats. Or marching bands. Or soldiers.

Just one attraction. A poor Jew from out of town riding on a hijacked colt.

He’s not much to look at. He doesn’t smile and wave to his admirers. In fact, he looks forlorn. He rode a donkey to his birth, and he will ride this colt to his death.

But this is not what the crowd has in mind. This is not what the parade is for.

There’s a parade in town because this man has done something they’ve never seen before. He teaches with authority. He heals and forgives. He even raises the dead to life. He’s no 2-bit charlatan. He’s the real deal.

So he must be the one who will bring God’s kingdom to earth. God’s kingdom, which will destroy the Roman Empire, and all earthly empires so that God’s chosen people can once again live in peace in their promised land. God’s kingdom, which will end all illness, pain, and suffering on earth. God’s kingdom, which will restore Jerusalem, the Holy City, to its former glory.

He may not be much to look at. But there is much to celebrate. And so the parade continues on, until it violates the noise ordinance. Even the geography is in danger of joining the cacophony as the stones prepare to raise up gravelly voices in praise of the one who comes to create a new heaven and a new earth.

There’s a parade in town.

Elected officials ride along in expensive convertibles. Every insurance agency in town has sponsored a float. All the car dealerships have loaned vehicles plastered with their names to be driven past the throng of hungry consumers. The winners of beauty pageants wave mechanically from their thrones, idolizing appearance at any cost.

As they wave and cheer, the crowd doesn’t think about gerrymandered voting districts. They aren’t focused on whether or not the politicians are honest, ethical, and working for the common good. They don’t worry about corporate greed or consumer debt or the rising cost of healthcare. They don’t see their daughters suck in their tummies and fidget with their hair and wonder what it would take for them to win a beauty pageant.

They see power. They see status. They see immortality. They wave and cheer and shout. Children dive for candy and then ask to be lifted onto shoulders so they can see the whole spectacle. Parents swell with pride as they watch their children march past, puffing away at trumpets and clanging symbols with gusto.

There is so much to see. So much to celebrate. Achievement. Accumulation. Appearance. Everything humankind can endeavor to accomplish on our own. Like a marching, rolling, cheering Tower of Babel.

There’s a parade in town.

It marches out of one end of town and back in another. Marching away are the smartly uniformed young people, in disciplined formation, going seriously but excitedly to defend, to protect, to serve. Their eyes are lustrous, hopeful, and proud. They have trained and prepared. They have offered their lives up to the national cause. The veterans salute them, and the grateful throng hold up signs thanking them for their sacrifice.

The crowd does not concern themselves with the fate of these young people, only their willingness to serve, the opportunity to dedicate their lives to a cause. They do not question the justice of the battles they will fight and do not even consider the life, the innocence, or the peace that both sides will lose.

These are the ones who will make our nation great. They will keep us safe. They will do that.

The parade on the other end of town has a different atmosphere. The marching uniforms return, some of them empty of their occupants. The luster has gone from the eyes of others, replaced with horrors they cannot begin to name. The crowd is somber, though grateful still. Some are wise enough to feel responsibly embarrassed for what they have taken from these young people. They hope they have received something, too.  They hope it was worth their sacrifice.

The crowd cannot know the cost of this parade. Not really. Until and unless they join it, they can only stand by, holding signs, placing their hands over their hearts to protect them from breaking.

There’s a parade in town. 

The scapegoats with gold stars emblazoned on their arms march past, some trying to carry along precious belongings. They are wide-eyed with fear. Most have no idea where they are going. The ones who have some idea are terrified. They all hope to reverse the parade soon. They are prodded along by uniforms with guns.

The crowd watches. Some jeer. Some cheer. Some stand by, silently accepting. Some look sympathetically toward their neighbors, but they do nothing, say nothing. The parade goes by, emptying neighborhoods, homes, shops. Creating a new nation.

There’s a parade in town.

There is just one attraction. A black man, handcuffed, guards at his side. His spiritual leader, an imam, stands on the other side of the glass as the parade advances into the execution chamber.

The crowd watches. The man dies. The imam prays.

The Alabama Attorney General says the parade is a "long-delayed appointment with justice."

The imam prays.

There’s a parade in town.

The crowd jeers at the line of men, sweating, bleeding, stumbling under the weight of heavy wooden beams.

From the governor’s headquarters to the Place of the Skull, the parade of criminals trudges along. A spectator named Simon of Cyrene is pulled from the crowd and forced to carry the cross of one of the men. Women follow the men in the parade, beating their breasts and wailing.

The man whose cross was being carried by Simon stops and turns to the women. He says, “Don’t weep for me. Weep for yourselves. Weep for your children. The days are coming when you will wish to be in my place. Don’t you see what is happening? Do you understand this parade? What it’s for? Where it’s going? This parade will not end at Golgotha.”

The women continue weeping, the crowd continues jeering. The parade continues on toward its appointment with justice. The parade continues on.

There was a parade in town.

But now all that’s left are trampled palms, empty candy wrappers, flags, crumpled signs and banners. The streets are empty, save the debris. There is nothing more to see. No more coming attractions. The parade has passed us by.

Where will we go now? Seeking after the next diversion? Are we hungry for more excitement? Are we haunted by these empty streets?

Or can we wait here? In the emptiness. In the growing dark. In the mess.

Because only here can we see the parade for what it really is. Only by spending some time here, after the parade, can we understand the idols we worship, the fear that captivates us, the anger and self-interest, the mob mentality that keeps us going along with both the “hosannas” and the “crucify him!” Let the stones cry out, because they know better than we do what the past has taught and what the future holds. Right now, let’s wait here, in the empty street, after the parade. Let’s not run off to the next parade. Perhaps nothing will come of it. But, then again, perhaps…

Amen.